“These,” said Aaron, “are my friends. They shall be yours, if you choose.”
“Humph! What do they want with me?”
“We want to hear you tell about the time when Uncle Aaron was a runaway,” suggested Buster John.
“Goof! Who is Uncle Aaron?” asked the White Pig.
“Me,” said Aaron.
“Oof—oof!” cried the White Pig, scornfully. “Return to the swamp, Son of Ben Ali, where we have no such names. The paths are all there. I have kept them hard and firm. Come!”
Aaron shook his head. “It is too late,” he said. “I belong yonder; you belong here.”
“Then I’ll go where I belong. Ooft!”
“When you have pleased my friends.”